


Persimmon

by Razega



Series: An Adventurer's Guide to Romance [4]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Romance, an adventurer's guide to romance, junmyeon fluff, junmyeon romance, medieval au series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razega/pseuds/Razega
Summary: Hi there! This is part 4 of an ot9 EXO series collaboration between myself and a friend over on tumblr.Please check out my masterlist (where you can see both of our blogs and her moodboards for each of the fics in this series!) at:https://softly-savage-mint-yoongi.tumblr.com/post/616508345118048256/an-adventurers-guide-to-romance-a-collaboration
Relationships: Kim Junmyeon | Suho/Reader
Series: An Adventurer's Guide to Romance [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768102
Kudos: 4





	Persimmon

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is part 4 of an ot9 EXO series collaboration between myself and a friend over on tumblr.  
> Please check out my masterlist (where you can see both of our blogs and her moodboards for each of the fics in this series!) at:
> 
> https://softly-savage-mint-yoongi.tumblr.com/post/616508345118048256/an-adventurers-guide-to-romance-a-collaboration

“Please, can you address this with the court?” asks the Head Physician. She stands before you, a bit shorter than your own height, wringing her hands and trying to relax her face in a way that would smooth the lines of worry creasing her forehead.

You nod, pulling your favorite quill from its ink well at your writing table, “Not to worry, I’ll address it as soon as possible. How long until you think the supply will run out?”

She takes a long pull of oxygen, releasing it with a sigh as she surveys the items placed around your workspace. “Perhaps a week more than a fortnight,” she admits. The words drip heavily from her tongue like rotten bile.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, standing from the large table and gathering your notes, “I’ll take care of it. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

You add this just above your priority to find a Fighter’s Guild willing to deal with the problem, as you’d discussed with the court earlier this week.  
_______________________________________

Two days pass, and you’re standing just outside the palace, before the gates and looking over a map when two small dogs scurry past you. “Vivi, Monsieur, come!” a voice calls after them, followed by a whistle. Immediately, both lift their heads back, stopping at the sound of their names.

A tall man runs up beside you. His hair is swept up and to the side, revealing strong brows above curious eyes. You’ve met him briefly in passing before, but not spoken to him directly.

The dogs walk to him, sitting happily beside him where he stands in front of you, with heads tilted up at him and awaiting commands.

“They’re well behaved,” you laugh, leaning down, “May I?”

The Kennel Master, Sehun you recall, nods with a smile, “They are most of the time. A little too excited to go for a walk today though.”

You reach out, letting them sniff your fingers. The white one, whom Sehun clarifies is Vivi, reciprocates first, wagging happily as he lets you brush your fingers through the fluff atop his head. The red-coated dog, Monsieur, greets you the same the moment you pet Vivi, wanting attention.

Sehun laughs a little at their antics with you. When you rise, you smooth out the center of the map in your hands. A motion that the Kennel Master catches, his eyes looking toward it as he flicks his chin to it, “Are you trying to go somewhere?”

You grin at him, holding it out to him with both hands, “I am, actually. I’m looking for any vacancies in the middle district. I need to find an appropriate place for a new business at the King’s request. I’ll admit I am prone to getting lost sometimes though.”

The man beside you pulls a long breath into his lungs, brows furrowing and his small lips pushing into a pout of sorts. Even as someone in good standing to be any sort of Master at the Palace, you know he is young.

His eyes meet yours and he narrows them for a moment as if considering you. When he is finished, he looks toward the gates briefly with a smile, “I know a place.”

“You do?” you ask joyfully. This is not a task you were looking forward to, you had to admit. It’s hot and you have other important duties to do in the palace. This should be the type of job tasked out to the Royal Clerk. However, with such a position currently vacant since the Lord’s passing, you must do it until you find a decent replacement.

Sehun smiles at your hopeful tone, “Yes ma’am. I’m headed that way, I can show you if you like?”

You collect your excitement, schooling it into a properly professional expression, “That would be very helpful thank you.”

He snickers at you once, turning and motioning with his fingers for the dogs to follow as he walks. The pair flank him, trotting cutely beside him to match his long strides. Falling into step beside him as well, you’re eager to get the task completed sooner than expected.

“My… brother of sorts runs the Bakery in the middle district. I remember seeing a vacancy sign just behind his place a few weeks ago. Empty when I looked in the front window. What kind of shop does it need to be?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

It’s hot in the direct sunlight. There hasn’t been enough rain lately either, and the road kicks up dust from dried out dirt and mud as you walk. Surely your dress will need laundering when you return to the Palace, lest you go around dirtying the freshly cleaned halls with the hem.

“Ah, right,” you concentrate, trying to play off the way you wipe the sweat forming on your hairline with the tips of your fingers, “An Apothecary or Healer. Someone who can help with the wounded and sick.”

Your eyes find Vivi’s fur between you and Sehun, wondering how the dogs deal with the heat through all of the fluff, and how on earth Sehun keeps the pure color of Vivi’s snowy coat clean.

He nods, kicking a bit of the dust up with the tip of his boot as he walks. You pass into the lower level of the city, exchanging stone structures of homes and estates to wooden and brick buildings of the shoppes of the working class. It’s still early enough that Frost Flower Inn is quiet. A young man with a youthful smile you recognize as the eldest of the Fletcher’s children is standing on a ladder across the street from it, polishing the metal lightning bolt shaped sign of the Fletcher’s shoppe. A woman, you believe his sister, stands beneath him washing the windows while she holds the ladder for him with one hand.

A few yards further, just toward the end of the square, a man with golden skin is leading a dance. He doesn’t appear to be much older than Sehun himself, but his clothes are unique and fashionable. The deep colors wrap themselves around him beautifully and nearly enchant you as he moves.

Sehun pokes at your arm gently, breaking you from the spell. “This way,” he says when you blink up at him rapidly, pointing to the large establishment at the corner of the square. A gaggle of young women are crowded around one side, swooning over something.

“Have you eaten? The Danishes here are the best in the city, and its early enough they’re fresh,” Sehun comments, walking up beside the building.

You want to protest, but your stomach grumbles at his inquiry, answering on your behalf. The Kennel Master smiles widely. “After you,” he chuckles as he holds the door open. Vivi and Monsieur sit obediently outside without a command.

“Good morning!” calls the young Master, waving a hand inside the shoppe. The lobby area has a few patrons standing around with small tickets, waiting for their fresh goods. It does smell wonderful. Rich and warm scents of herbs and garlic and fresh breads that make your mouth water.

A stout older man comes into view, rounding a corner and wiping his hands with a white rag that he slings over his shoulder. The sleeves of his tunic are rolled up to his elbows and he claps once when he sees Sehun, creating a tiny puff of flour from the impact.

“Sehun, m’ boy!” he hollers loudly in the vast space of the shoppe, reverberating off of the vaulted brick ceiling. Behind him, another man works at a table with his back to you. He pauses and turns slightly at the mention of Sehun’s name. You can see the horde of women from here as well, clearly staring at the man.

You approach the counter with Sehun, smiling at the familial interactions as he extends a hand beyond the counter to shake with the older man. “What yeh want today, son? Jus’ whipped up some Danishes if you’re cravin’,” he asks, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. You smile at the way his accent makes his words sound pleasantly sincere.

“Actually yes, thank you. One for her, too, please,” Sehun explains, briefly looking to your profile.

The man smiles at you, looking between you and the tall young man for a moment longer than you’d like before turning and pointing, “Junmyeon, bring me those will yeh?” He steps a little closer to you, leaning in to ask, “What flavor d’you prefer, ma’am?”

“I’m not picky,” you sigh, smiling to add. “I’ll have whatever you recommend, please.” You reach for your coin purse, but the man stands back with a wave.

“No ma’am,” he says, “’S’on the house!” He laughs fully, with the apples of his cheeks rising high and his eyes curling into half-moons. His presence is just as warm and comforting as his Bakery, you think.

“Thank you,” you reply, dipping your head to him. When you lift it, the other man in standing just on the other side of the counter. He’s holding out a wrapped pastry toward Sehun, who takes it with a laugh. When he turns toward you fully, your breath catches in your throat.

He’s gorgeous, is your first thought.

Likewise, the man seems frozen, equally staring at you with his arm extended toward you. You follow the line of it, holding a wrapped pastry in his hand. Blinking to dispel the moment, you gently take it from his fingers with a slowness that lets your fingertips brush his.

You smile at him, and he smiles in return, “Thank you very much.”

“You’re beautiful, I mean, uh- you’re welcome,” he coughs into a fist, his sculpted brows knitting in confusion as he rears back to acknowledge himself with slight confusion and perhaps disgust.

His compliment makes you stifle a laugh, smiling at him with cheeks the color of dusty rose.

Sehun watches the entire encounter from the corner of his eye, lips twisted into a grin and curled around a piece of pastry.

“Ready to go?” he asks, doing absolutely nothing to hide his amusement.

“Bring yer lady by for supper sometime, son! She’s welcome anytime,” the older Baker says.

Sehun’s expression blanches for a moment, “We are not together!”

The man laughs with a hand on his hip, raising the other to wave you off and get back to work. The younger, handsome Baker stays rooted in his place on the other side of the counter. He stares between you and Sehun with eyes that are narrowed just slightly, and his pink lips are parted just so as he considers something.

“Come on now, the dogs are probably getting impatient,” Sehun comments, ticking his head toward the door. “I’ll catch you later, hyung.”

“Goodbye, and thank you again,” you look up quickly, holding your pastry delicately with two hands. Junmyeon blinks twice and meets your eyes with a broad smile.

“You’re welcome, anytime,” he replies. You think to yourself how charming he appears to be as you follow Sehun back into the busy square.

Surely enough, Vivi and Monsieur are wandering around the square, curiously sniffing what others have left behind and greeting passers-by until Sehun makes a particular whistle that perks their ears and brings them back to his side.

He turns to you as the dogs approach. “The place is here,” he comments, extending a long finger toward the alleyway beside the Bakery. He raises his pastry to his mouth, taking a calculated bite of the perfectly sculpted treat.

You follow suit, curious of the flavor of yours, which differs from his by the color. Where his is cream with a yellowy glaze on top, yours is a jam the color of sunset. He watches your face as you take the first bite.

The sweet and tangy pop of flavor the bounces along your tongue is none other than persimmon, and you chew thoughtfully with a touch at your lips. The delicate crunch of the outer flakiness of the pastry with the soft gelatin of the jam are balanced contrasts as the flavor smooths out into something delightful.

“Are you coming?” Sehun laughs at your perplexed and wistful expression, standing further in the alley with his own Danish halfway gone.

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly taking another bite and following him to the vacant shoppe tucked into the row of buildings.

___________________________________________

That evening, you’re still thinking about persimmons. You are still thinking about persimmons and the beautiful young Baker. You’d thanked Sehun over and over again on the walk back to the palace for helping you and for the treat.

“I’ll introduce you to Junmyeon properly next time, sorry,” he’d admitted as you said your goodbyes.

“Junmyeon,” you whispered, testing the name and turning it over on your tongue once or twice before the young Kennel Master laughed boyishly.

You ponder, curious and strategizing a way to go back to see him more often. To get the addicting persimmon Danishes, of course. Scoffing at your own thoughts aloud, you tap the end of your quill against the blank parchment and shake your head. These thoughts are a distraction to your work.

____________________________________________

Another day passes full of meetings with Lords about land, and a meeting with the King and Prince about the threat of the Draugers. The Prince is adamant about fighting them himself, along with his loyal Knight Captain. The King won’t hear of his only son risking his own life. He has no idea about Baekhyun’s adventures after dark.

The suggestion for a Fighter’s Guild comes and goes once more, and his Majesty seems to agree there are not many choices left. More of his soldiers come back wounded or dead every week.

During midday intermission, you sit beside the Knight Captain and his Lieutenant- your best friend- enjoying light meats and greens. The King dismisses himself briefly while Baekhyun remains in his seat, looking over the platters for something to quell the loud grumbling of his stomach.

“I’m so tired of this,” the Prince sighs under his breath, plopping down on the bench across from you in a manner that is altogether ungraceful for Royalty. Chanyeol mirrors his frown, nodding along to Baekhyun’s complaint with cheeks full of pheasant and chicken.

“He just wants to keep you safe,” you try, rational as always.

Baekhyun turns to you from his place beside the Knight Captain. “I know but I’m not a child and I’m far more lethal than he realizes,” he comments, his lips ticking up just slightly at the corners, the angular shape of his cupid’s bow accentuating his distasteful expression.

“We know,” you reply calmly, noticing your companions nodding in agreement with your statement. “I think he is going to hire a party. I must get a more solid grip on something substantial for him to give me the approval, though.”

Baekhyun squints at you, studying the thought before deciding on a question, “Why? What more could they do that our army cannot?”

Suddenly feeling sheepish for even considering the word, you meet the curious brown of his eyes and smile, “Magic, for example.”

Chanyeol chokes on his lunch, pounding a fist against his chest loudly as it meets the armor plating, “What?”

Baekhyun sucks in a breath between his teeth, tilting his head sharply, “You got me there. It’s so rare in this time though… I don’t think it will be that easy to find Magic users. Let alone enough with skill to take out the horde of Draugers down at the farms alone.”

With your usual dignified expression, you tell him, “I’ve already found one for him, I’m just waiting for a response.” Deciding you’ve already said enough, you reach for a piece of fruit on the platter between you without looking. When you raise it to your mouth and take a bite, you get a familiar rush of sweet and tangy flavor.

You pull it away from your lips, chewing with a smile as you realize it’s a persimmon. You reach for a piece of bread, tearing off a chunk and popping it into your mouth with the next bite, the closest you’ll come to the taste of that Danish.

_____________________________________

The following morning you’re being sent to have the vacant building inspected. With neatly filed pages for its contracts and signage for what is soon to be The Honeyed Ram, you make your way into town. Perhaps you skipped breakfast deliberately so you can stop by the Bakery next door for more than convenience.

As you open the door, a woman sobbing into her own hands runs directly into you, knocking your book and organized papers to the ground. She doesn’t stop to look back as she runs out.

Someone else comes to crouch beside you, picking up the papers scattered around. “Sorry about that,” the person says, standing in front of you with your papers outstretched in their hand.

“Oh,” you say, finding the handsome face of the young Baker.

You take the papers from his hands slowly, and you don’t miss the way he gently relaxes his fingers to slide against your hand in your exchange. Silence passes for a minute until you inhale the comforting scent of baked goods and remember why you’re here. “Do you have Danishes today?”

He blinks and the softness around his eyes sharpens back to clarity, “We do indeed. What’s your fancy?”

“Persimmon,” you say a little too quickly, your brows rising a fraction and cheeks glowing a rosy pink in your embarrassment.

He chuckles at your cuteness but says nothing as he dusts his hands on his apron and moves behind the counter. You watch with a rapt sort of transfixed attention as he scours the carts of baking racks. He jerks his hand away from one that was still too hot as he laid his palm against the metal frame, and you smack your hand over your mouth to shield the smile that burst on your face at his pouted lip and furrowed brow.

The man snaps his fingers together when he finds just what he is after, whipping out a piece of wrapping from a box on the back counter and gently scooping the pastry between the folds of paper.

“For you,” he says with a self-satisfied smile as he holds it out to you. You turn to your coin purse before taking it, but he protests cutely with a shake of his head, “Absolutely not.”

“Let me pay for it, please,” you chide back, reaching toward him with the coins.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Please, I refuse to be late. Let me pay so I can be on my way.”

The expression of curiosity melts into his features, but something you can’t figure out makes him drop the act altogether, instead taking your hand with your coins held out and laying the pastry into your palm with finality.

“I apologize for your delay. I hope you’re not late,” he boldly meets your eyes and smiles gently.

“Please le-“ you try still.

He holds up a hand and shakes his head with a sigh, “You’re going to be late if you stand here and keep arguing with me.”

This man… you think to yourself, opening your mouth to refute but snapping it closed and locking your jaw. Unfortunately, you realize he is correct. You’re also amazed that he can rile you to agitation so easily.

You turn on your heel and stalk from the Bakery, fighting with yourself to turn and give him your sweetest smile, even though your words sound harsh and sarcastic, “Thank you for the Danish.”

You can hear him laugh as the door swings closed with a ‘clack!’ of the wood against the frame.

_____________________________________________

The next morning, you eat until you’re satisfied at the dining table of the great hall, refusing to be sad, in fact you’re relieved when you find no sweet and tangy persimmons among the assortment of fruits on the platter in front of you.

To your surprise, the Kennel Master spots you from across the room and joins you at the table, “Good morning, Lady Y/N.”

You smile at him, “Good morning Master Sehun.” You dab at the corner of your mouth with your napkin, “What are your duties for the day?”

He sighs, tossing an orange into the air and catching it as he raises one brow and speaks to you, “Out of the ordinary every day, hm… hunting with the Prince and training some of the newer pups, I believe.”

Nodding at his words, you say, “I see.” You don’t mean for the tone of your understanding to seem poor, but you were hoping he might spare you an hour or two of his help and his height.

He smiles at you, “What’s the matter? Hoping I was free?”

“No,” you say a little too quickly, giving it away as is your habit. You rebuff, sitting ramrod straight and relaxing your face into the dignified woman you’re known to be, “Not at all, in fact.”

Sehun laughs beside you, assuming the best way to get information is to be flattered that you might need his assistance. “Of course not. What would the Lady of the Palace need with someone like the Kennel Master, I wonder? Truly, I’d be flattered.”

Your brow perks at his flamboyant statement. You’re not an imbecile, you know he’s trying to play you.

“I’ll not be had, Kennel Master,” you state dogmatically. “I was merely in need of your physical stature. I suppose I could look elsewhere, besides; the Knight Captain is taller.” You watch him scowl, “Too bad, you were my first choice.”

You make a gesture as if you’re going to stand from the table, but he mumbles something. “What was that?”

He clears his throat, “I said next time for sure. Please ask me whenever you need help.”

You smile at him, happy that the psychologic reversal worked in your favor. Of course it did, you were used to using it to your Kingdom’s advantage at the negotiation table often enough. “Thank you, Kennel Master. Good day,” you bow slightly to him as you stand.

The one negative from his lack of freedom today was that you were still without the help you needed to accomplish the priority tasks. Work needed to be done to the old building where the Apothecary would put roots.

Work that you would normally hire the Kingdom’s builders for, except that every single one of them was busy repairing and rebuilding structures that could be safely reached, all caused by the Draugers. Of course.

You were hopeful Sehun would be able to help, or even the Knight Captain, although you knew he was extremely busy and felt bad if you had to ask him.

You think, strategizing as best you can as you walk through town to the building in question, rounding a familiar corner and standing in front of it with your arms crossed.

Right. The first thing you can think of is the exterior. It needs a good cleaning. The windows need to shine and the iron hanger for the sign at the peak of the awning is missing two nails.

So you roll up your sleeves and set to doing it yourself. Although you are the Lady of the Palace with an entire staff just for cleaning and repairs, you spent your childhood running those same halls with brooms and mops taller than you, always helping your Mother do the work.

Hours pass this way, and you’ve perspired more than ever before as the sun beats down on your hair. The clothes you wore today were a poor choice on your part, not planning to do the work yourself, let alone without assistance.

You’re teetering on a ladder with the flat heads of two nails between your lips as you try to balance while lining up the iron hanger with the wood of the awning.

A wooden door swings closed behind you, the sound of footsteps halted with a surprised ‘Oh!’

You peek to your left, noticing the handsome baker standing a few yards away with three sacks of flour thrown over his shoulder. Handsome and strong. The back of the Bakery must be what lines the side of the alleyway facing the shop.

“What on earth are you doing up there?” he asks with a mix of curiosity and panic. Easily, he tosses the sacks of flour onto a wheeled cart waiting to be loaded.

He approaches with haste while you answer, “Well, I’m trying to fix this.”

A tense laugh erupts from him, as if he can’t believe you, “Clearly. What I mean to ask is why are you doing it?”

He holds the ladder steady with one hand while the other braces behind you in midair to catch you if you fall. You sigh, leaning over the top and removing the nails from your puckered mouth, “Because there wasn’t anyone else available to help me, and I’m a bit overwhelmed and lost trying to figure out why these nails won’t hold.” You try to keep your frustration off of your face and out of your voice, but he smiles wryly at you anyway.

“I can help you,” he states matter-of-factly, his face completely serious when you look down to meet it.

You positively grin, “You have a Bakery to run.”

He tuts, shaking his head, “No, we’re closed on Thursdays. Father has to make deliveries.”

“Oh,” You muse, considering him for a moment.

“Please come down and let me do it,” he coerces with a smile.

Just as he waits for an answer, the sun reminds you that it is hot up on the ladder and you don’t want to be up here. With a sigh, you relent, hiking your skirts to your ankles so you can climb down.

You don’t anticipate the gentle way he touches your waist to guide you or the warmth of his fingers around your wrist as you lower yourself down the final rung. He lets go once both of your feet are steady on the ground.

In a matter of moments, he assesses the work and tells you a new plank is necessary and the old nails rusted out of the holes.

At first this frustrates you, until he nimbly hops down from the ladder and moves across the alleyway to the Bakery and comes back with a piece of wood that should do the job just fine.

You watch, perplexed and bewildered as he neatly removes the old piece of wood and asks you for a few more nails. Before you can fully wrap your head around what is happening, he is standing directly in front of you with the hammer and a straight smile that pops out the apples of his cheeks and gives him dimples, eyes glittering and ready.

“But… how?” you ask.

He pops his lips, an action you catch, “Ah, we rebuilt the Bakery ourselves when I was a child. I grew up learning how to be pretty handy thanks to my Father.” The nostalgic smile he sends you at his explanation is full of warmth and happiness.

“Thank you very much, Junmyeon,” you don’t know why, but you still feel apprehensive about the way his smile makes your heart flip flop in the cage of your ribs.

“So,” he begins, putting his hands on his hip. “What else needs to be done?”

You freeze, “What?”

The man before you grins, “Come on, let’s keep going.” Moving past you, he waits just up one step onto the porch. When you make no plans to move, he laughs and approaches you again, eyeing you carefully before he takes your hand and pulls you inside with him.

For another hour or two, he helps you check off box after box of needed correction given by the Inspector.

You spend it conversationally, naturally without a need to fill any lapse of silence with words as you use a broom to dust cobwebs from the wooden lattices of the corners. You feel yourself relax around him easily, the comforting presence he provides not lost on you.

You remember the warm strength of his hands on your waist when he lifted you to reach the cobwebs nestled in the vaulted ceiling on the second floor, both of you too lazy to fetch the ladder from downstairs.

________________________________________

Two days later, Sehun fails to coolly recline himself into the plush armchair in the corner of your office. You lean your chin on a delicate wrist, expecting a tantrum from his behavior.

“It’s not fair,” he begins, petulantly whining with his mouth sagged open, full bottom lip jutting out and his strong brows cinched together with a wrinkle.

You want to laugh, but school your expression into one of indifference, “What’s this about, Master Sehun?”

“You’re stealing my brother,” he states, still whining, with an edge of frustration.

Ah, this is what it’s about.

“I am not,” you comment with the wave of your wrist, looking back to the parchment laid in front of you. You dip your quill and begin writing again while he speaks.

“Yes you are. He keeps ditching me, telling me ‘Lady Y/N needs help with this or that or I have to bake this or that because I neglected my job so I could help Lady Y/N.’ It’s not fair,” he sighs, throwing a hand in the air between you, eyes flicking to you briefly before finding the corner of the bearskin rug again.

Your cheeks flood with warmth, but you keep your voice level as you reply. “Might I suggest that I never asked for his help, nor did I willingly accept his offer for assistance while neglecting his duties? Furthermore, this wouldn’t have been a problem had I received the assistance I required,” you say pointedly, looking at him. His lips pucker briefly, and he rolls his eyes, muttering ‘I was busy though,’ under his breath.

“I’ve never seen him act like this. He’s so smart and serious usually, I’m shocked he came to those conclusions on his own. He was even happy about it, prattling on about your favorite things and how he thinks you’re incredible,” the Kennel Master continues. You’ve never heard him talk so much.  
You can no longer feign indifference toward this conversation, staring blankly at Sehun with a hiss of embarrassment.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” he replies to your silence immediately, expression curling incredulously.

You blink twice in rapid succession, how could you have known? How could you take his kindness and offer of assistance as anything but helpful friendliness when you didn’t know him a week ago?

Perhaps you were too wound up in your own fascination of him? Of the comforting ease his simple presence relaxes you into, or the way his voice is one you fall asleep to as you replay conversations in your head while you drift into unconsciousness. Of the way his hands light warm sparks along your skin whenever you touch?

“He’s smitten with you,” Sehun announces in an icy tone.

“And you don’t approve?” you ask coldly, daring him to concur.

“It’s not that,” he muses, thoughtfully sighing. “I won’t pretend I’m not jealous though. I feel left out.”

Your brows rise, giving more credit to the young man slouching against the deep blue velvet of the armchair. You hadn’t expected him to be so honest about his feelings, but you don’t really know what to say.  
________________________________________

Early the following morning, you meet Junmyeon in the alleyway. He’s standing with his head tilted, brows furrowed, and lips formed into a loose ‘o’ as if he is considering something.

“Good morning,” you greet with a wave. His face relaxes measurably, and he waves back, holding out a small package to you when you’re within arm’s length.

“For you,” he says. The scent and warmth of it give away the identity before you see the persimmon Danish between the folds of brown paper.

You scoff, happy but a tad cynical, “I should be paying you a hundred times over for these just for your help the last few days. Are you ever going to let me pay for one?”

He shakes his head wistfully, “That’s not how this works, I’m afraid.”

Confused, you ask, “How what works?”

His only answer is a hum of thoughtfulness before he strides to the door and motions for you to follow, “Come on, we’ve only got the banister and candles left to do, right?”

The morning comes and goes this way just as planned, fixing the last three balusters and resetting the banister of the stairs before replacing all of the old wax with new, less-fire-hazardous candles in all of the candelabrum.

It’s late morning when you finish, walking slowly out of the alleyway with satisfied smiles and sighs. You round the corner and the few women standing in their place to look inside the Bakery don’t bat at eye at either of you. Not until they peek at who is standing in front of the Bakery, shocked to find the object of their desire with a woman.

“Do you perhaps, want to keep walking?” he asks casually, arms twisted behind his back as he kicks out to take another step slowly. As if waiting for your answer before he steps from the shade into the sun.

Sehun’s words yesterday keep the surprise at bay. You match his stride forward with a smile, “That would be lovely.”

You don’t get to enjoy the scenes in the center of town very often, unless it is a special occasion. Experiencing the sounds of music, smells of restaurants and tavern’s midday meals, and sight of street performers amidst the everyday bustle is quite exciting. Perhaps there is a lot more to your beloved city than you remembered.

A man, familiar from days ago, dressed in the finest tunic and trousers you’d seen on common folk dances gracefully around the middle of the center, twirling himself to the music that plays. His skin has been kissed deeply by the sun, and his full lips look so soft in contrast to the sharpness of his square jaw. You watch him with Junmyeon, clapping when he finishes the dance and laughter like a bell bubbles forth from him.

Time passes as the sun moves from its peak to lean West until clouds overtake it. You don’t notice until you’re nearly on the outskirts of the city, having walked and talked until you could see the lushest foliage of the forest that separated the city walls from the farmlands.

The first drop on your forehead alerts you to look up, breaking you from your sentence. Junmyeon stalls beside you, upturning a palm and spreading his fingers, feeling the beginnings of the patter.

At once, you’re both looking at one another with a slight panic, turning immediately to walk as quickly as you can back toward the city center. It hasn’t rained in nearly a fortnight, of course it would start now.

The cool, wet slide of precipitation catches you both too quickly, pulling a squeal from your lips and a groan from the man beside you. He laughs and grabs your hand, pulling you under the nearest awning.

“Oh, goodness,” you scowl. Junmyeon stands beside you with eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a slight smile, considering options.

He grins, “We can try to wait it out, or make a run for it.”

You gawk at him, “We should wait of course.”

He sighs considerably, “What if it doesn’t let up?”

As if to further validate his question, it rains harder. Enough that you know the moment you step out from cover you will be drenched.

“I… don’t know,” you say, tasting the unusual words on your tongue.

Minutes pass, and you only grow more irritated. Junmyeon however, seems to gladly accept this for what it is, an uncontrollable force of nature.

“I think we should go. It’s just rain,” he says, sticking one hand out from the awning and letting the droplets break across his arm to fling smaller drops onto his chest and neck.

You don’t say anything, only shake your head.

“It’s warm in the Bakery. Even if we get soaked, we’d be dry and warm in minutes,” he tries, coaxing you. As if to agree with him further, a gust tilts the sheet of rain sideways and wets your side up to your shoulder. The awning offers nearly zero protection anymore. The Maker is not working in your favor today, apparently.

“Honestly…” you mutter under your breath, giving in to his suggestion when you shiver in your wet clothing.

He laughs, vividly picturing you, poised and perfect, running full speed through the rain across the city center.

“Ready?” he asks, extending a hand for you to take.

Steeling yourself, you grab up your skirts in one hand and lace your fingers with his in the opposite. The smile he gives you is utterly dazzling, and your heart suddenly pounds louder than the rain in your ears.

The sheet of cold that washes over you as you run does nothing to subdue the warm steadiness of the hand in yours. You run, screaming at first until it bleeds into laughter with his own, toward the city center.

It comes into view, the small stage set up beside the well vacant of any musicians or dancers this time, but Junmyeon pulls you to a stop. The stalls around the market are all empty even though the patch-worked canopy connecting each row protects them from most of the rain.

“Why are we stopping?!” you yell, heaving the chilly air into your lungs and feeling utterly ridiculous. Perhaps not ridiculous, but, alive? Refreshed and charged, you wonder if this is what a lightning bolt feels like before it strikes.

Junmyeon looks up, squinting against the downpour on his face and pulls you toward him tightly. “I want to remember this,” he says loudly so you can hear him properly.

“Remember what?” you ask back just as loudly, smiling like perhaps you have no cares or worries in the world.

You catch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he looks at you again and takes a deep breath, “How much you take my breath away.”

Every ounce of heat in your body pools in your cheeks, and your heart hammers away as if you are lightning itself about to tear across the sky with a thrill. You feel it chase up your spine before you realize you’ve let go of your skirts to touch his cheek.

Your eyes slowly move through the rain, noticing the way the color of his tunic is translucent, his clothes sticking to him as if he bathed in them entirely. His chest pushes out and pulls in, and you can see the pulse point in his neck beating underneath his skin in time with yours.

He shakes his hair in vain, thrusting his free hand into it to push it over his forehead before he reaches for your waist with it, then he draws himself up to slot against you and presses his rain-slicked lips against yours.

And it feels like the rain means nothing at all.

You can’t truly sample the softness of his lips with the constant pinging of water across your faces, but you decide there will be more time for that. It doesn’t matter anymore, because you’re crossing an imaginary line that never should have been there in the first place.

You’re allowed to fall in love. You’re allowed to let go and be happy. You recall your Mother’s words before her passing, telling you ‘Your work is not your life.’

He breaks apart from you with an unnecessarily large swallow of oxygen, his cheeks tinged pink even through the chill. Catching the glimmer of hope alongside the flicker of anxious fear in his eyes, even though the rain, you let a giddy smile expose your lack of worries.

You’re always so highly wound by justice and propriety, but right now your heart beats wildly in your chest with a refreshing freedom. You never would have thought you would enjoy getting soaked thoroughly by a rainstorm, but you had to admit there was some appeal for those of your friends that said being kissed in the rain was romantic.

Something, may it be instinct or intuition, told you he would be the one to bring you balance. He would break all your stiff barriers and loosen you up to experience all that life has to offer. Considering what Sehun has said about his own code of conduct, perhaps you would be the catalyst for him to break out with freedom once in a while as well.

“Again,” you find yourself saying to him, overtaken with a pout of your own lips while your hand squeezes the muscle of his forearm. Junmyeon barks a laugh, relieved and loud with his head dipped back to the sky.

His arm curls around your back, pulling you into him further. The kiss he plants on your lips is less frantic and stiff than the one that came before it. Less nervous now that acceptance has come to pass, and it is his turn to take your breath away. You part only briefly for a breath until he collects your lips again slowly.  
By the time you make it back to the Bakery, you’re both shivering from the cold but laughing nonetheless, anxious to get warm and dry by the ovens.  
________________________________________

Two days pass, and each one is fought for balance between your duties and your newfound romance. You woke up and attended to your duties and schedules immediately as you should, happy to get the day under way.

This morning, you try not to smile too hard as the completion for the Apothecary project draws closer to fruition. You had an appointment with the inspector yesterday to go over the corrections, and the satisfaction he hummed while stroking his mustache recalled all of the memories you’d made with Junmyeon in the last week.

You clear your throat, disciplining your face into a neutral expression as you hand the report to the King for a final seal of approval. All that was left now was fetching the Apothecary himself, which was a job for your best friend, the Lieutenant. You knew the Knight Captain himself wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere unless the Prince himself was going.

_______________________________________

Now, the next morning, you’re given an order to place the finishing touches on the Apothecary’s new residence. The King has required that most of the caravan space be utilized to carry only as many wares as possible for use in the Kingdom’s fight with the undead.

In his own words, he directed you to make certain his new home had everything he would need since he is leaving those kinds of things behind. So here you were with a weighty coin purse and a dignified smile on your lips.

You always did enjoy shopping. You might have staff who can do this sort of work, but it gives you reason to be out in the city center and reason to smile.

Before going into the square to shop among the market, you stop by the Bakery, a place you now think you could reach without paying any attention at all even though you easily get lost. Your feet naturally take you around the familiar hedges of green and white to the right side of the road. The smell of bread fills the street with something warm and delightful.

Entering the shoppe, you notice the gaggle of young women doing their best to meet the eyes of the young Baker once more, standing together and watching his forearms flex as he kneads a section of dough.

You remember the way he barely batted an eye at your entrance the first time you were here, stifling a laugh at the way his eyes immediately move toward the door at the sound of the chime. When he sees you he lights up with a soft smile, letting go of the dough in his hands and dusting them off on his apron.

“Good morning,” he says, pulling a sheet of wrapping from his box without much preamble.

You smile, walking directly up to the counter and waving at his Father, who says nothing but glances at each of you with a warm smile like his son’s and a nod of his head.

Your lover moves past the counter separating you, holding out the Danish you cherish. “For you,” he says, leaning down to place a quick peck to your lips as he holds the food above your head.

There’s a crowd of murmured, shocked gasps from the women desperate to earn his affections. Then in embarrassment, they disperse with hushed whispers and teary eyes for the day. Surely, they’ll be back tomorrow. His Father laughs loudly from his son’s brazen antics to the suitresses with injured egos.

You blush, but don’t shy away from the kiss, “Am I still not allowed to pay?” you ask quietly when he regains his full height.

Junmyeon takes a deep breath, pretending to think. “I think I told you that’s not how this works, darling,” he replies.

Sometimes you could be so clueless, especially in the romance department. “How what works, you never answered me,” you remind him.

“Courtship,” the handsome Baker says simply, almost as a question, with a cockily raised brow and a pout to his lips.

His statement is so certain, it warms your cheeks. “Thank you, then,” is your answer.

He stalls for a moment, happy with your answer, “What are you doing today? I took a peek at how pleased the Inspector was, so I know that went well.”

Humming, you bring the persimmon Danish just under your nose and smile at the gentle scent of your favorite pastry, “I have to shop for it now. Make it a home.”

Junmyeon looks back at his Father and across the rest of the Bakery, “That sounds like a lot to carry.”

“Perhaps,” you agree.

Junmyeon smiles cheekily at you, “I could always help you, instead.”

“Go on now, yeh two lovebirds. Yer Mother can come down an’ gimme a hand,” Junmyeon’s Father cuts in.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly after all of the help he has already given me,” you chime, feeling a little bad for making his parents do the work in his absence.

His Father fixes you with a look, “Sure yeh can. He spent his whole childhood in here buildin’ an’ bakin’ with us, I want him to get out more.”

It suddenly dawns on you that Junmyeon’s commitment to baking and helping his parents is one he put on himself, not the other way around. It pulls at your heart strings to see first-hand and realize how selfless and moral he is. You smile softly at him, and your heart beats faster at the look of embarrassment on his face.

“’Sides, I never see him showin’ interest in women. Always givin’ excuses tha’ he’s too busy,” his Father continues with a shake of his head, “’Bout time he starts thinkin’ ‘bout himself.”

“Okay Father, thank you for that,” Junmyeon says a little stiffly, walking around the counter to clap a flour hand print onto his Father’s shoulder on his way to scrub his hands. You take your first bite of the persimmon Danish with a hum.

Like this, you spend the rest of midday with him, walking between the rows of carts and stalls for the oddities and every day items one would need in their home. You only enter three of the permanent structures lining the border of the square, for heavier fixtures that you pay to have delivered to the building.

He helps you pick bedding and it suddenly becomes apparent you should thank him for coming- you hadn’t realized a man’s perspective would be so important when choosing trivial things such as the color of linens. You try to keep your personal opinion out of the selection process, but can’t resist the way your hands at least skim over the brighter shades of cool blues and greens with delight.

Perhaps you would come back another time and make a purchase for yourself, you wonder. You could use a new look in your chambers.

Jewelry is not considered a necessity for home goods, but you stop by a booth with shining silver pieces anyway, smiling at the glittering metal. Junmyeon cups the fragile weight of a sapphire pendant in his palm before he decides to ask the price.

“Four gold pieces, sir,” says the stall keep.

You watch in awe as he pulls his own coin purse from his pocket delightfully and hands the elderly woman exactly the price before removing the necklace.

Still silent, your eyes read the self-satisfied smile across Junmyeon’s face as he moves your hair with a gentle caress and clasps the necklace around your throat.

The woman coos happily, “Oh, that’s beautiful. What an eye he has, my dear.”

Your cheeks flame hot, your hand automatically rising to touch at the deep blue stone where it rests against your chest, “Thank you.”

Junmyeon’s smile is so soft and warm that you cannot stand looking at him a moment longer, choosing to bury your head against the side of his arm. He finds the action adorable, laughing at your antics, lacing your fingers through his and patting the back of your hand.

When you’ve finished shopping, you agree to lunch at Frost Flower Inn. It’s been a while since you’ve been, but you wave happily at Minseok, the owner, from his place behind the bar. His best friend, the Fletcher’s son, and the dancer from the square raise their pints in greeting from the only two occupied seats at the bar. It doesn’t surprise anymore you that the unnamed man is dressed in immaculate fashion.

After you’ve eaten and your lover insists on paying, he helps you unpack the wares for the residence. You’re nearly finished, just smoothing out the wrinkles of the bed spread when Junmyeon’s hands find their way around your waist from behind you.

He doesn’t let you turn around as he parts your hair from your neck, lowering his head to the skin of your neck with a deliberate slowness that pulls a soft hum of appreciation up the column of your throat.

Your hands find his own against your hips, sliding higher until you let his fingertips dance just below the swell of your bosom over your corset, palm flattening against the laces. “This feels nice,” you encourage, letting your head loll back onto his shoulder.

The affection his lips press into your skin move across your exposed shoulder and back up before you’ve had enough and twist forcefully in his arms to access his lips with your own.

His hands move down this time instead of up, roaming over the fullness of your cheek with a delicate squeeze that slips a sigh past your lips onto his skin. Your lover grins when you kiss him, and the pressing of tongues between you makes your head spin.

Then, like a ghost, he’s gone, standing back from you with a heaving chest and lips swollen like cherries. The apples of his cheeks glow a softer shade of pink, and he blinks at you when you whine softly at the lack of his touch, staring back at him with hazy eyes and lips just a red as his own.

“Did I- ?” you begin to ask around a swallow of air, looking down at yourself while you smooth your hands over your dress.

He smiles, clearing his throat. “Not at all. I just don’t want to rush,” he clarifies. You nod, agreeing, and look away, fanning yourself to cool in the humid room.

________________________________________

The next morning, everything is officially in order for the Apothecary’s new residence, and a courier has been sent back with his acceptance to arrive in one week’s time. It’s time to spill the good news.

“My Lady,” says the Head Physician, bowing as she sees you. She watches you from beneath her lashes, with head tilted in waiting for your words.

You try, really you do your best to school your smile into a passive greeting, but it comes a bit too quickly and wide in the wake of your excitement, “I’ve procured an establishment for an Apothecary, and the King has ordered a squadron led by the Lieutenant herself to go and fetch him. He will be here in one week.”

A sense of relief washes over her frame before you, visibly sagging as she clutches at her chest briefly before clapping her hands together. “Oh that is spectacular! Thank you so much!” she gushes happily, the worry lines smoothing from her skin briefly as she relaxes with your good news.

“I’ll be overseeing the process myself to ensure a smooth transition for him in place of the Clerk. Please leave it to me,” you smile further, clutching your ledger and books to your chest as you turn to leave.

“Thank you!” She exclaims gleefully once more with relief.

During the midday intermission, you join the Kennel Master when you see him. “Good afternoon, Master Sehun,” you call in greeting.

He raises his goblet to you in return while he chews. His eyes flick to yours minutely before they go back to watching something else. You follow the line of his sight to the Knight Captain and Lieutenant, bickering while they eat, as usual.

“Eyes on the prize?” you ask, plucking an apple from the pile on a platter.

Sehun coughs suddenly at your question, quickly covering his mouth with his palm, “No.”

You smile knowingly at him, considering whether or not he knows you and the fiery Lieutenant are in cahoots.

“She’s just really amazing. I don’t know if I like her like that,” he clarifies. Ever the honest one, you nod with a smile.

“She is amazing, I’ll give you that. Why don’t you talk to her?”

His eyes snap to yours incredulously, with a small crease between his brows and lips dropped open, “She’s liable to gut me before she would court me.”

“You don’t know that unless you try,” you remind him. Wanting to wish him luck and encourage him, you remain silent. With how well you know her, he might be right.

__________________________________________

The following morning you’re up earlier than you’d have liked, much earlier than morning light. A banging on your chamber door from one of your stewardesses rouses you in alarm.

“My Lady, I’m sorry, but there’s an urgent meeting with a Lord and the King,” she says in a panic, holding out a fresh set of clothes for you.

Flinging yourself from your bed, there’s no time to waste as you thank the Maker you had done something decent with your hair before sleep and the stewardess helps you lace up your corset with lightning speed. You throw her a tight-lipped smile as she holds out the proper books from your study, having the forethought to collect them for you prior to coming here.

“I demand an answer, your Majesty! We cannot sit idly by any longer, greater action must be taken! I am not the only Lord whose lands are being ravaged by these abominable creatures!” a Lord exclaims in outrage as you enter the great hall.

The King meets your eye quickly with a grim nod. He’s tired, you can tell he didn’t sleep. The Prince seems no better, if not murderously unhappy talking about a sensitive subject for him so early in the day.

“Enough. I’m doing everything in my power,” the King bellows with a roughened voice, “I cannot continue to throw my Kingdom into turmoil blindly until we gather more information on these Draugers.”

The Lord huffs, standing in front of his ruler in crumpled clothing, clearly what he had worn the day before. What happened, you wonder? You look to the Prince from the corner of your eye. He catches it and only raises a brow that tells you ‘more of the same.’

“When will you have the information?!” the Lord demands of his King, running an accusatory hand through his greasy hair.

“Lady Y/N?” the King asks, turning to you with his head held up by his fist where he sags in his throne.

You realize what he’s talking about, immediately flinging open the marked page in your notebook, “Yes, your Majesty. May I?”

He meets your eye with an expression of tired thankfulness. “Please,” he says quietly, acquiescing for you to take the floor.

“We all know Exoltaria has no guilds of this kind, so it took some time to gather the proper resources to find one, I hope you can understand, my Lord,” you explain, handing him a copy of the information to see.

You don’t give him a moment to find useless words to refute or degrade your King further. This is where you excel, “We’ve hired the best of the Fighter’s Guilds to investigate and aide us in getting rid of the problem. They’re currently heading this way but aren’t due to arrive for another three days.” You give the Lord a sharp, pointed stare when he holds the parchment back out to you with a shake of his fist.

“I understand your frustration, but please consider that your King is doing everything in his ability to ensure these Draugers are wiped out once and for all. It is a delicate balance, but as you can see, we’re working tirelessly to resolve the conflict,” you decide. Looking back at the King, he nods once, knowing you’re asking for resources to appease the Lord.

You take the parchment back from the befuddled Lord before the court, ignoring the beginnings of a blubbering protest with an icy tone, “My Lord, please file a claim with me and I will ensure the Kingdom handles any damages to your properties. I hope this will suffice for this morning. Please return to your estate and rest properly knowing your King is taking appropriate action to resolve the crisis.”

He huffs at you but says nothing otherwise, staring between you and the King for a long moment, considering his ire, before turning around and waddling his portly figure back down the center of the great hall.

“Thanks, Lady Y/N,” Prince Baekhyun says once the heavy doors close behind the Lord. He sighs, standing from his seat with a stretch, removing his crown to scratch at his scalp.

His Majesty slouches further in his throne, releasing a yawn that sounds like a lion’s roar, stretching in the same fashion of his son and scratching at his beard. “They’re getting so touchy and anxious,” he drawls in his sleep-deprived tenor.

The Knight Captain stifles a wide and silent yawn with the back of his hand from the other side of the throne. “That’s what happens when people get scared, My King,” he comments dryly. Chanyeol doesn’t seem to have slept at all, either.

“Mm,” replies the King, standing to retire back to his chambers.

The Prince might be tired and in no mood to fight with his Father, but he notices he has a shot at getting the answer he wants when the King is exhausted. “Father,” he begins, “Might Chanyeol and I escort the guild when they arrive?”

The King pauses for a moment to consider his son with a raised brow. Eventually, he sighs, “I don’t suppose that would be dangerous. But only inside the city walls. Don’t think about going past the gates.”

The answer might give Baekhyun limitations, but it doesn’t give him the outright no he was expecting, and he smiles warmly nonetheless, “Thank you, Father.”

____________________________________

Later that evening, you’re celebrating the passing of the torch for the Apothecary project to your best friend, the Lieutenant.

She tears into a piece of bread from your favorite Bakery with more aggression than she is trying to portray. “It is what it is,” she says.

An idea pops into your head at her romantic dilemma, “I know! You should go on a date with Sehun!”

You watch with mischievous glee at her spluttering. In your head, it would resolve more than one conflict at once. There’s a push back at your suggestion, as you had anticipated, but she gives into your wishes after more wine and insatiable coaxing on your part.

__________________________________

Which is why, promptly two evenings later, you and your lover are delighted with yourselves as you sit across from your friends at the Frost Flower Inn. The conversation is kept light and casual, and you try your hardest not to force them to be together. Let it be natural, let it be natural, you tell yourself. You’d never done this before either, and it was perhaps admittedly a bit awkward for you.

Eventually, the night comes to a slow crawl and the only common observation you’ve made between the obscure pairing is that they both like to drink, and drink a lot. They talked and laughed with you and Junmyeon, but it didn’t seem to go further than that.

“I think I should get back. It’s late, and I’ve got a mission in the morning,” the Lieutenant says as she finishes her last pint. Then grumbles at the dress she’s wearing, swearing under her breath at its material as she struggles to move her legs from the tangle of long skirts.

Sehun, an honest gentleman, gets a stern glance from Junmyeon, who kicks him gently from under the table. You smile, knowing it means he should follow.

He pouts at his brotherly figure. “I think it’s time to turn in as well. Let me walk you back,” he says finally.

Your friend fixes you with a sharp stare as well, ignoring Sehun altogether, “Come on now, it’s late for you too.”

Raising a brow at her, poised and professional, you’re not sure how you tell her with a straight face, “I’m going back to the Bakery with ‘Myeon.”

Her brows fly into her hairline and she balks at you before growling, “Fine,” and stalking out of the Inn with Sehun on her heels.

Beside you, Junmyeon laughs, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and raising a dark brow at you, “That was daring.”

You nod at him, motioning to rise, “But it was the truth.” You smile, hungry for him as Junmyeon swallows hard and drops more than enough coin on the table in a hurry with wide eyes.

Slow, as he had wished, is something you struggled to pace yourself with. Back in his space, above the shoppe of the Bakery, where he kissed you until he panted for breath and his hands gathered your skirts so he could slide the warmth of his palm up the back of your heated thigh, kneading the supple flesh of your rear as if it were the dough he works every day.

His name drops in a quiet moan from your lips when he sits at the edge of his bed with you in his arms. His kisses are deep and languid, with one hand remaining at your lower cheek while the other climbs high enough to palm the swell of your breast with a sigh.

Relenting, “Let’s go to sleep,” he requests moments later, having his fill for now.

“Junmyeon…” you whine at him, but he just sighs wistfully and kisses your clavicle.

“I know,” he says, “I want you, too. I just like to take my time.”

You pout a little more but relent. This newfound discovery of desire is more of a struggle than you realized.

_______________________________________

A week passes by in a flurry. With the new Apothecary, Yixing, setting up shop at The Honeyed Ram, to your best friend breaking her leg during the mission to bring him here, to the Fighter’s Guild getting into the city a few days ago, it’s been busier than usual.

The four women have been the talk of the town lately. Unexpectedly all female, they walked through the gates looking like four goddesses to most, or the four horseman of the apocalypse to others.

A fighter, the leader of this Adventure Party, as she proclaimed, with boisterous laughter and an edge of danger to her lean, muscled frame. Not too much, just enough to keep her strong but fast, you appraised. You tried not to gawk at her too much, fearing she would call you out on it.

A bard, taller than the others but wispy. She moved like the songs she sang, dancing around throngs of people as she flitted to and fro in the street with a melody on her lips.

Then came the ranger, whistling different pitches to communicate with her companion, a large dog with pointed ears and a fur as black as night. She carried a bow nearly as long as she was tall and had leaves woven intricately into her hair.

Lastly, and perhaps most regally, was a mage. Unexpected and rare in today’s world, since their practices are slowly going extinct. Her appearance made her seem cold and considerably frightening, with wild and curious eyes, but the moment she spoke, laughed or smiled the power of her presence became something bright and cheerful.

Her robes accommodated a leather harness across her chest that served to strap her staff to her back, the elegant silver crowned with an opaque but iridescent jewel that captured the fragments of the sun in its swirling depths.

The King was most impressed with them upon their arrival, and their promise to fulfill the contract until it was resolved entirely.

Days have passed since then, and the updates you’ve received from them since have only been related to reconnaissance information. There is talk among the court and the guild of a Necromancer. Although there is no solid proof yet, simple patterns leading to inclinations of that variable are high.

Knight Captain Chanyeol wants to engage the Draugers with them to get some ‘hands on experience’, in his own words.

For now, you can do nothing but wait. So, you do, finding yourself in the arms of the handsome young Baker as often as possible.

Tonight, finally, you’ve had enough, and so has he. Tonight, finally, he promised to have you.

Tonight, finally, you’re straddling his lap as he sits on his bed, kissing his way down your neck to your shoulders, his fingers racing the laces of your corset down, down, down, until he’s ripping the garment from your body and basking in your sigh of relief.

Your fingers spread over the warm expanse of his chest, feeling his heartbeat pounding beneath his sternum. It’s hard to concentrate on anything except the awe of him and the way he makes your most basic desire pool in your gut.

His mouth works lower, past the sapphire necklace you wear every day, although he does lift his head momentarily to appreciate the way it looks against your naked chest as he catches his breath. His eyes glitter with a softness as he admires it.

Below you, there’s a stiffness that he rocks against you from time to time, groans spilling from his lips every time you reciprocate with a swivel of your hips. You reach to unfasten the tie of his trousers, but he moves too quickly.

Immediately, he lifts you from his lap with ease, gently urging you onto his linens and pulling the hem of your skirts up over your head. Finally, you muse with delight.

Junmyeon stares at you, enough that he seems to have difficulty of some sort in functioning. “Wow,” he breathes at last, quietly recovering.

The way he worships you, with a delicate certainty, has you keening under his touch in seconds. The sight of him, all sculpted muscle and soft cheeks and strong brows, is one you appreciate hovering above you.

Moving your knees to grant him access, he moves his hips to yours and wastes no time in capturing one of your rosy buds in his mouth. Arching from the bed with the delicious sensation, your fingers fly to his hair, gripping.

Junmyeon groans appreciatively, letting the smoothness of his thumb rub across your neglected nipple until it moves lower, softly caressing your ribs down to the swell of your hip and finally, the place you crave his touch the most.

You both moan at the greeting of his fingers through your folds. At last, rather than letting desire pool in your core for days and doing nothing. The relief is so gratifying you think you could shed tears.

“Junmyeon!” comes a loud banging from downstairs.

You open your eyes without realizing you’d closed them to find your lover’s brows furrowed in concentration, intent on ignoring the call of his name from anyone other than you.

He laves his tongue over a pert nipple, releasing it in time with a drag of his fingers over your clit. You moan his name.

The hour is late. “Junmyeon!” the urgency of a voice cuts through the haze of pleasure again. One you notice has a whining edge to it.

Sehun. Junmyeon stills above you, groaning with a huff, “I’m going to kill that bastard.”

You giggle, “Well, we’ve waited this long, what’s one more night?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, apologetic but not yet ready to release you as his fingers drag through your wet heat one more time. His eyes follow the motion with his lip between his teeth, and you shiver.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, raising a hand to his cheek. He takes it and kisses your palm, rising from the bed. You rise, too, and pick up his shirt.

The young Baker gives you a confused look when you pull the garment over your head, ignoring the way his erection twitches in his trousers at the sight of your body swimming under the material.

“He’s my friend, too, and by extension, kind of part of my staff,” you explain with a shrug.

Junmyeon makes a face that says he can’t argue with your logic, although he isn’t satisfied with the skin of your thighs showing for Sehun to see. He moves past you to pick up a blanket and drapes it over your shoulders, showing his dimples with a straight smile.

“Come on then,” he sighs just as another loud call of his name accompanies a pounding on the Bakery door from below. Your lover scowls, turning to face the interruption. Clearly it cannot wait.

When Junmyeon swings the door open, Sehun’s eyes blink at the man’s naked chest, then struggle to focus on you standing just behind him.

“Oh, I didn’ know you were here, Y/N,” the younger man slurs. He hiccups once, pointing a finger at Junmyeon, “I have a pro’lem.”

The shorter man pulls him inside and forces him to sit on a stool. You silently watch, appreciating the way the aggression of Junmyeon’s tense muscles make his movement across the Bakery precise.

“What?” Junmyeon demands, voice sharp with irritation toward his friend.

Sehun laughs, but it turns into a choked sob after a moment, “She’s so beautiful.”

You and Junmyeon share a look, thinking something terrible must have happened between him and the Lieutenant. Last you’d heard from her they had agreed to be good friends but nothing more, and she was seeing someone else. What had transpired?

“Who?” Junmyeon asks, folding his thick arms across his chest. You smile at the change in his voice, just a little softer.

Sehun hiccups once more, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. “The woman with the dog. Nice dog, good boy,” he says, voice laced with turmoil. He sniffles once, wiping at his nose with the back of a hand and giving Junmyeon the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen.

You want to laugh, and so does Junmyeon, but you cover your mouth and offer the young man a pat on the shoulder instead, “Why are you so sad then?”

Sehun looks up at you, eyes glistening and his trademark open-mouthed pout. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he coos drunkenly, “She’s wild. But curse the Maker, she’s terrifying.”

No longer able to hide your amusement with his dilemma, you chuckle at him and smile, “Oh, goodness. You poor thing.”

Junmyeon stands at his other side, running a hand through his hair with a sigh, the other on his hip. “You sure do love your dangerous women, don’t you?” The tone of your lover’s voice is teasing.

Sehun only nods his head where it hangs between his slumped shoulders. Then he quietly stands on legs as wobbly as a newborn calf. Junmyeon braces his hands toward him, ready to catch him if he falls, but the younger man makes it to the door and straightens himself to his full height. “Sorry I interrupted,” he croaks as he pushes the door open.

With a smile, your irritation with him is long forgotten as you watch him wander, stumbling toward the palace in a zigzag line. You do feel a bit bad for him, but your attention is stolen by the feel of Junmyeon’s warm hands pressing against you as he suddenly scoops you into his arms.

His grin is smug as he raises one brow at you and turns back to the stairs, “Care to pick up where we left off, my Lady?”


End file.
